Wrought Iron, Book 1 of Merlin's Message

Chapter 13 - Flint

Flint stood on his assigned corner. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck from under the cap which held his wig. A crude wooden crutch under his right armpit gave him something to lean on. The right leg of his trousers was empty and pinned up. The sun beat down on the unsheltered spot. Two copper seed coins rattled in his tin cup as well-dressed townspeople strode by with their noses in the air. All the passersby were careful not to make eye contact.

Begging stinks. Flint grumbled to himself. And this corner's a dry hole. Now, a payday for the miners outside a tavern, yeah, that gets a good haul. Miners make the best marks for a beggar. Farmers don't have any money, and the richer tradesmen and merchants all got tight fists. Weird how only the guys who don't have much will give to a beggar. What was Coldark thinking, putting me here for the day?

A middle-aged woman, carrying a basket of goods and dressed as a house servant, slowed and stopped.

"Oh, you poor thing," the women mourned.

She dropped a silver piece in Flint's cup.

"Thank you, ma'am," he simpered.

He flipped the silver piece from his cup to a pocket as the women's back receded down the sidewalk. Flint concentrated on committing her face to memory. Remembering the charitable was one of the tenants of his profession. Another was that information is as valuable as money.

Flint shrunk down, trying to be invisible, as two Enforcers approached. He listened to their conversation while keeping his head down and tin cup quiet.

"No joke, Alf. I'm telling you. I heard it from Frank, who got it from Jake, who had the guard watch outside the Captain's office this morning."

"So what? You going to believe that back-stabbing weasel, Frank? And Jake's nothing but a sneaky little suck-up."

"Yeah, I know. But why would they lie about the portal opening up for the first time in centuries?"

"Sounds like another stupid insider story. Come on. All the stuff we hear, all the crazy rumors, how do we know? Is there even a portal? I think it's just an old story they use to keep us in line. You know, the big bad evil ones are going to come through the mythical portal and eat us in our sleep. Bunch of dregs."

"I'll tell ya what, though. Got it from the Lieutenant at the noon brief. There's gonna be a big crack-down on the Thieves' Guild, and there's gonna be another big search for writing again. It fits if they're worried about the portal."

"That true?"

"Call me a teacher if it ain't, Alf."

"Fine. Hey, Gof, shut it. There's one of them street beggars right there."

Flint froze. Crud. Now I'm in for it. I should have run when I coulda.

The Enforcers stopped to look down at the crouching Flint. Their dark metal head plates glinted slightly. They wore long red jackets and tall black boots. Even Flint was intimidated by their appearance.

Without warning, Alf kicked Flint, and the heavy boot struck the young man's hip. The blow sent pain shooting up and down Flint's body and threw him off balance.

"Ow!" Flint cried in his best servile whine. "Lay off me! I'm no harm to anyone!"

"Move on, you urchin, or I'll give you another kick to move you on. Get off the street, or I'll haul you over to the Orphan's House."